


Life After the Credits Roll

by pssychotropical



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M, i guess a bit of an angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 15:23:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20260276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pssychotropical/pseuds/pssychotropical
Summary: "From where he sat, where he stood, where he existed, he kept silent. Arms crossed, lips into a thin line or maybe sucking the bottom lip in, perhaps furrowing his eyebrows a bit too, he watched Taeyong break up with him again, and again, tenth time and eleventh."





	Life After the Credits Roll

He didn't mean to be like, you know, in a way, dramatic. But honest to god, Taeyong's always been nothing but dramatic. Standing in the middle of their flat, with Jaehyun watching him from the sofa, watching him watch himself in the hall wall mirror, the only mirror that was really suitable for Taeyong, so big every detail is visible, from the floor up to the ceiling. Standing before it, talking, watching himself being watched by Jaehyun, Taeyong conducted his dramatic monologues in which he always quitted something.

One monologue, he was going to quit his job. He threw the camera tripod onto the floor, slam, loud noise, the tripod cracking into pieces. You never really know that just by looking but there's so much strength in this small a body Taeyong has.

Another monologue, he told Jaehyun, "It's time for us to break up." Crossing their flat from one room to another, leaving doors open, windows open, throwing stuff all over the place, Jaehyun's documents carried by the wind and following Taeyong's steps like puppies their mother. He said he couldn't do it any longer. That there was just so much he expected from a relationship and it just simply wasn't what Jaehyun could give him.

The funny part of it all is, Jaehyun never really spoke much in reaction. From where he sat, where he stood, where he existed, he kept silent. Arms crossed, lips into a thin line or maybe sucking the bottom lip in, perhaps furrowing his eyebrows a bit too, he watched Taeyong break up with him again, and again, tenth time and eleventh.

What Jaehyun used to tell him, "You should totally try theatre. You would be like those modern actors." Maybe what Taeyong hated the most was that Jaehyun always remained so blasé, never participated in those plays equally, never picked up the script to yell, cry, beg him to stay, maybe slap him in the face with anger. Taeyong would love that, he could go with it, he had lines ready in response to Jaehyun's heart breaking into pieces. So instead of all that, seated on the sofa, magazine in hand, Jaehyun said, "There's an interesting article. An interview. The lady works in a theatrical academy. She says acting is the most difficult thing you can major in. I call it bullshit. You go to the stage and you just pour your ugly feelings out, in front of the audience. It's like masturbation."

Taeyong didn't get what he meant.

"I mean," Jaehyun continued, "I guess it's a good thing that I'm your only audience. I can close my eyes and forget it."

Taeyong repeated, "I'm saying I want to end my life the way it is now. Which part of it you don't get?"

Jaehyun came back to reading the magazine. Major in theatre, pour dirts out, cry, just cry.

So every week, sometimes a few days in a row, or twice a day even, like it's a spectacle people have already bought the tickets for so you need to play as many times the demand is, Taeyong threw things around. "None of those damn films are any good. I record garbage. Nothing feels like anything. I have stagnant emotions."

Jaehyun never thought Taeyong's emotions to be stagnant. Unlike his films, films in which there were shadows dancing to slow, quiet electronic music in the background, Taeyong could be so loud. He was loud when they were having sex too. Always wanting it somewhere else, pushing Jaehyun into changing rooms, train bathrooms, janitor's offices, pulling Jaehyun's trousers down and kneeling down himself. He wanted a spectacle. He couldn't record this passion in a film but his whole life was a film. Maybe just Jaehyun was miscast. He could never play his role right.

Tugging on Jaehyun's hair harsh, he breaths out, "Come on, push me against the wall, pull on my hair, do it." Breath out. Another time. Come on, Jaehyun, act this.

Back to how they first met, a bar, shining light in it. First comes the camera, then Taeyong behind it, another friend of a friend to whom Jaehyun is a friend of a friend too. Someone introduces them but Jaehyun no longer remembers who. By way of greeting, Taeyong emerges from behind the camera, hands shaking, his eyes just as his lips, smiling softly. He seemed so non-intrusive, like he was only half-there, half someplace else. He said, "I won't bother you, guys." He said, "Act like I'm not even here." He occupied the spot behind the camera and Jaehyun caught himself staring in that direction, sucking in the details of his neck, shoulders, ears, the big lens of a face that he had. Taeyong's body leaning against the bar, his back arching, looking for just the right frame, the right perspective. Midway through the meeting, Jaehyun drunk and his ears hot, he realised he was the one being recorded in particular, cherry picked him out of the crowd.

Maybe Jaehyun's mistake was that he always believed himself to be enough. That this was exactly what Taeyong needed. Someone stable, like a big island in a sea that tempests run through. He thought that Taeyong appreciated how no matter what he said or did, no matter how awful he was, Jaehyun was still there.

Another one of such events, remembrance now. Jaehyun's best friends in the living room, it's his birthday party, party of sorts, alcohol on the table, pizza already cold. So this night, exactly then, Taeyong had another one of his big performances. He stormed into the flat, he was late, didn't apologise, threw his coat onto the floor like prop to stage. He screamed, "I fucking hate you." Neither Jaehyun nor anyone else knew what he meant, but both Jaehyun and his best friends already knew Taeyong's ways. They got used to it. Taeyong was born a star. If he wasn't just a random guy working in a film recording company, paparazzis would just love him, they would flock like birds and Taeyong would walk past them, he would punch someone, or kiss someone, loud, wet. So many headlines.

So yes, that was Jaehyun's mistake. He got used to, he thought that's what you gotta do. But Taeyong really meant those monologues of his, in the end, about how his life didn't leave a trace, how he was slipping through people's fingers, how he needed to create something that would have his name right under it. A good piece of video. A film that introduces a new wave.

What Jaehyun wouldn't do for him. First year of their relationship, Taeyong says he wants to record porn. Jaehyun doesn't want that, of course, he works for a damn law firm, he has people who shouldn't see his dick out and in action. But Taeyong's Taeyong. He really has your attention, he has you around his thumb, he starts sweet and if that doesn't work, he forces you, crushes you against the floor like a bug. So they did record porn, Taeyong really did his job, looking into the camera lens in search of his own reflection, working out the best pose on top of Jaehyun's naked body, behind them the red window curtains pretending to be theatre curtains.

Like always, he was the personality. Someone ready to speak about the great things he made but without making them beforehand. He was born with a thank you speech, with a Nobel prize receiver pose, with a face of someone on all the magazine covers. Only he wasn't born with, what you call it, the skill.

One time, Yukhei walks into the door. He sees the cassette on the table, it's nameless, retro, nobody uses those anymore. Only Taeyong, the film freak. He asks jokingly, "And what is that?" picking it up between two fingers.

Taeyong emerges from the kitchen, recaptures the cassette out of Yukhei's hand, he's so cheeky, swift, he's like a single puff of someone's perfumes in metro. He says, "Home-made porn. Jaehyun's dick mainly. You interested?"

From the sofa, just a few steps away, Jaehyun shrugs his shoulders. He's embarrassed, someone has to be. Yukhei scratches his neck. Taeyong can be the level of sexual that makes you feel immediately ashamed, and like you won't get it hard the next week or so.

Now they're in the bathroom stall in the law firm Jaehyun works for, Jaehyun glued to the corner and trying not to exist for a second, just so that neither his boss nor his co-workers hear him make noise. Between his legs, working his trousers down, is Taeyong himself. He says, "Come on, Jaehyun. This is exactly the place we gotta have sex in."

Trying to distract himself, Jaehyun runs his fingers through his hair, again and again, his palms sweaty. Taeyong works it inside his mouth, and fuck, he's so good at it. Jaehyun tries to think of something else. Two days ago Taeyong quit his job, again. He told his mother he hates her and he's the biggest mistake she's ever made, how can you do one thing, create a human being and fuck it all up. Now with his dick in Taeyong's mouth, Jaehyun can swear he hears the guy who took over his last case enter, talking to someone else. He presses his hand against his lips, then he realises he's stopped breathing.

Living with Taeyong means you keep on losing breath. It's like running too fast all the time. It's like you run so fast you've long passed every place you wanted to go into, the world around you got so blurred you can't see shit.

Sometimes Jaehyun really believes him. He's lying in bed, tracing Taeyong's chin with his fingers, and he says, "You know how much I don't want you to go." Taeyong's lips slowly fall open. He takes Jaehyun's finger in, something you don't necessarily expect your love partner to do right after an argument in which he told you he hates you and your relationship has been his biggest mistake so far, that he needs other people, other places, higher positions, abstract experiences, stuff that gets his hands itchy to grab a camera.

Jaehyun likes a simple, take it or leave it. But it's Taeyong who has to leave, Jaehyun's always there, he can take leaving, or take taking, as long as it's Taeyong who's the person doing. So Taeyong sucks his finger in like he's sucking other things, the cocacola straw when they're in a bar, eyeing other men and wondering which one to invite to the shooting, have him in his newest short piece film.

Taeyong says, "I didn't mean it." He says, "We're fine now."

When Taeyong's not throwing things around and saying painful truths that are painful but not truths, when he's not trying to emotionally kidnap you, keep you locked in the stress of not knowing what's next, so when he's not doing all that, he's a pretty normal guy. He seems cute even.

None of Jaehyun's friends believe him when he says, "He loves lovers' arguments. He's very vocal about his... emotions."

Yukhei looked at him, then at Jaehyun's clothes making up a long path from the front door to the bathroom, a suitcase right beside it, exactly where Taeyong threw it against the wall, expecting Jaehyun to pack his shit up and get the fuck out. "What are you talking about?" Yukhei asked. That was before he knew.

So when you're with someone who's broken up with you so many times it feels like breaking up took more time in total than being together, you get invincible. Jaehyun feels like he has a badge on his chest, of the one who survived. The only one who can deal with Lee Taeyong. He's awaiting the next tempest and he's ready for when it passes. He's going to kiss Taeyong on his forehead, and he'll tell him, "I forgive you. We're okay."

And at that moment, Taeyong will be the sweetest. He'll cuddle his whole self into the curves of Jaehyun's body, he'll be looking up at him through the eyelashes, apologetically. Maybe still located on top of Jaehyun's chest, their breathing slowing down systematically and in synchro, he'll start discussing his new project.

Maybe he'll say, "I have this idea. Yukhei. Naked. Covered with orange paint."

Jaehyun will kiss the very tip of his nose.

The point is, after the tempest comes the calm. That's how Taeyong works. Maybe Jaehyun's just so weird he's started to like it. Being the most hated but also the most loved, all the intense emotions directed onto him, him as the only recipient of Taeyong's emotional dirt pouring out. Maybe that's stockholm already, as far as that. Jaehyun inside Taeyong's long films of rain raining, sky being sky, Jaehyun's drenched hair sticking onto his forehead, silhouette standing a bit far, when a bus comes by he disappears and you barely notice. The lens onto him, his eyes onto Taeyong behind the camera. Expecting it, he should have an upper hand. And their make up sex is going to be the best.

But then one day there's no tempest. He comes back home and his clothes aren't in the process of being gotten rid of, get the fuck out of your own flat and never come here again. There's nothing atypical. Everything is in its right place. But that is exactly what worries Jaehyun. With Taeyong, things normally aren't normal. They haven't argued for weeks.

He's coming back home and Taeyong's not there, and his things aren't either. His camera isn't, his clothes aren't. There's the sex tape on the coffee table, a short note to enjoy it in the future, and also, another comment, that he's leaving and they won't ever see each other again.

And it's actually true. They don't.

**Author's Note:**

> i had a headache and this came out.  
alice et moi - filme moi, pretty cool song, would recommend.  
those are very sweet comments. i'm happy to have made you feel things.


End file.
